


Sherlollipops - Up Against It

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [115]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Tree Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>whenisayrunrun on tumblr said: Hi shyly waving. Can I send you a prompt please? I love the fantasy sex against a tree. Maybe you can write something about it? Maybe angry sex or surprising sex? Thank you <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Up Against It

**Author's Note:**

> So it took forever for me to rediscover this prompt, but here it is, some surprising tree sex. In a graveyard. Post-Reichenbach AU.

She had no idea why she bothered coming to his grave, knowing full well that the body inside wasn’t his. However, since she hadn’t a clue as to whether he was still alive or dead, nearly a year after helping him fake his suicide, it seemed as good a place as any to come when she felt the need to unburden herself. After all, who else could she talk to about her secret?

“I haven’t talked to John since the funeral,” she said to the headstone that listed his name, date of birth and date of (supposed) death. “Or Mrs. Hudson. And Mycroft wouldn’t talk to me if I paid him to.” She gave a nervous titter. “Not that I could bribe him with cash, seems like he has loads of that.”

“You might try baking him some fairy cakes.”

Molly gasped and whirled around to face the person who’d crept up on her so quietly. “Sherlock!” she hissed, eyes darting around in a panic before landing back on him, taking in the details of his appearance in random bursts. Dark grey beanie covering his trademark curls. Faded green hoodie with some band logo on it. Worn blue jeans hugging his legs. Scuffed black trainers on his feet. “What if someone sees you? I know John comes here…”

“Thought you hadn’t seen him since the funeral,” Sherlock replied, but allowed her drag him into the privacy of a nearby copse of trees.

“I haven’t seen him, not to talk to, no,” Molly agreed, still agitated by his unexpected presence. “He’s cut himself off from anyone who knew you, moved out of Baker Street, got a job at a clinic…”

“Yes, yes, I know all that,” Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Mycroft’s kept me up-to-date on everyone.” A faint shadow crossed his face, and Molly saw the pain his flippant attitude was masking. Without thinking she stepped closer to him, reaching out to take one of his hands in hers.

He looked down with a hint of a line appearing between his eyes, but when Molly gulped and moved to release him, he held tighter to her hand. “Don’t,” he said, meeting her uncertain gaze.

“All right.” The stood in silence for a few minutes, while the lengthening shadows of late afternoon gathered into oncoming dusk. Molly had no idea what had brought Sherlock back to England, or if he was back for good, but whatever the reason she was selfishly glad he’d chosen to search her out.

“It’s been difficult for you, distancing yourself from everyone,” Sherlock said, apropos of nothing. Well, that wasn’t quite true; of course he was deducing her, and he’d heard her words at the gravestone. “Just as difficult as it was to lie to them in the first place. I’ve asked a lot of you, Molly Hooper.”

“You have,” she agreed readily, her throat tightening a bit. Damn it, Sherlock had never seen her cry and she had no intention of breaking that streak today. “But nothing I wasn’t willing to do.”

“And you’ve never once asked me for anything in return,” he continued. “I used to think you were saving up favours to ask of me, biding your time, but if that was the case, you’d have asked me when I came to you for help. But you still didn’t.”

She shook her head, unable to speak for fear of releasing the tears fighting their way towards her eyes. He sounded a bit bewildered, confused, and she was deathly afraid he was either going to ask her why she’d never asked anything of him…or deduce it.

Either way would be devastating.

“I should go,” she half-whispered, swallowing down the lump in her throat with a great deal of difficulty. “And so should you. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you just because you were trying to, to figure me out.” She managed a small smile. “I’m really not that interesting a puzzle, Sherlock.”

“That,” he pronounced, moving closer to her, “is where you’re wrong.” He lowered his head, and Molly felt her heart thundering in her chest because she knew – she absolutely, positively _knew_ – that he was about to kiss her.

His free hand reached out to cradle her head, his thumb lightly tracing her cheek as her eyes fluttered shut. His other hand tugged hers up so that it rested on his chest as he closed the remaining distance between them. She tilted her head up, half-fearing the kiss would land on her cheek or her forehead, sighing softly when his lips touched hers.

“I’ll be trying to figure you out for years, Molly,” Sherlock said when the kiss ended. He held her close, enfolding her in his arms as she rested her head against his chest. “Decades,” he murmured as he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “A lifetime if you’ll let me.”

Her breath hitched in her chest and she turned her head to stare up at him, wide-eyed. “Wh-what do you…”

“When I’m done dismantling Moriarty’s empire, once I’ve torn it down piece by piece, I intend to come back to London for good, likely get the shit beaten out of me by John before he forgives me…and marry you.” Before she could even begin to process that remarkable (too good to be true?) statement, he tilted his head to one side and frowned. “No, on second thought I’d rather be sure of you.” He nodded decisively before once again piercing her with his gaze. “I’ll have Mycroft arrange it. He’ll back-date it to before my fall so no one can question it. Hmm, I’ll have it be at least a year earlier, so no idiots get the idea I killed myself rather than be...”

“Sherlock!” Molly almost shouted his name as she tugged herself free of his embrace, stepping back three deliberate steps. She would have gone more but a tree was behind her and she was too befuddled to think of moving around it. “I don’t…what are you…did you just…”

“Tell you we’re getting married? Yes I did,” he said equably, but the burning intensity of his gaze belied the matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “Would you prefer I proposed in a more traditional manner? Why bother, when we both know the answer you’ll give? You love me, I love you – Oh!”

He finally stopped talking, his eyes going unfocused for a moment before snapping back into awareness and pinning her in place. Molly remained frozen, unable to formulate a single thought, much less another word. “I love you,” he repeated, moving one step closer to her. Her fingers scrabbled at the bark of the tree behind her. “I suppose I should have lead with that.” Another step, as her heart attempted to beat its way out of her chest. “I love you, Molly Hooper, and I want to marry you. Immediately.” A third step and he was directly in front of her, so close she could see the pulse jumping in his throat, the only sign he was as affected as she was. Nervous, excited, scared? Hard to tell when her own emotions were so jumbled. “And no, it’s not just gratitude or loneliness or whatever excuse your brain is busy trying to come up with right now.” He leaned one hand against the tree, right next to her head. “It’s love,” he breathed, then turned his head to capture her lips in another kiss.

And oh, what a difference there was between this kiss and the first one! That one had been soft, warm, tender…this one was searing, passionate, toe-curling. Molly’s hands left the tree and ended up tugging at his dark curls, knocking the beanie heedlessly to the mossy ground. One leg was wrapped around his thighs and buttocks as he ground himself against her, and she moaned again at the feel of the hot length of his erection against her core. Suddenly grateful that she’d chosen to wear a skirt instead of her usual khakis, she grappled with the fastenings to his blue jeans, mind momentarily blanking on how to undo a button as his mouth moved to nip and lick at her throat above the frilly collar of her blouse.

He, of course, had no such problems; by the time she’d undone the button and zip to his jeans, he’d already nimbly unbuttoned her entire blouse and shoved her skirt up to bunch around her hips. As she tugged his erection free, however, his hands scrabbled desperately on her hips and he rutted against her, proving to her somewhat befuddled satisfaction that he was just as affected by their actions as she was. That fact was further proven when he began cursing under his breath and grabbing at her knickers as if they were deliberately keeping him from thrusting into her.

Molly solved that problem quickly and efficiently by shoving his hands away and jerking the offending fabric to the side. He breathed a warm sigh against her neck as she tugged him closer, one hand sliding over the hot solidity of his erection before guiding him into her. She didn’t even need him to touch her; she was more than ready to take him fully inside her.

Her leg had slipped down as they grappled with one another, and Sherlock hoisted it against his hip as he thrust against her. Molly held onto his shoulders for dear life, gasping and groaning as she met his movements, barely feeling the rough bark of the tree against her back. She’d be sore tomorrow, oh how she’d pay for this moment, but right now it was heaven and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Their lips met and clung in a sloppy, urgent kiss as he pulled her other leg up; she wrapped both legs tightly around his waist and held on for dear life as he fucked her hard, gasping out her name over and over again like a sort of chant or prayer.

She came suddenly, unexpectedly; it had never happened like this, without any sort of extra help from hands or lips, and she had to bite down hard on Sherlock’s shoulder to muffle her ecstatic screams. A few artless thrusts later and he was joining her, moaning low and soft against her ear, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he emptied himself into her.

He held her closely for a long minute after, then reluctantly lowered her back to her feet. She stared up at him, her hands still resting on his shoulders while his cum pooled in her knickers and dribbled down her legs.

“You should probably get some levonorgestrel for that,” he said after another moment, nodding at her sticky thighs. “You’re not on the pill, you stopped it because it was giving you too many migraines and yeast infections…”

“Yes, I know,” Molly interrupted him with a rueful shake of her head. So typically Sherlock to retreat into scientific practicality after such an intensely emotional interaction. “I will.” She tiptoed up to kiss him. “Tomorrow, first thing.”

He kissed her back, helping her readjust her clothing, letting her tug his jeans and pants back up so he could fasten them. Risky though it was, she let him persuade her to let him sleep at her flat that night, the two of them sharing her bed and pretending that tomorrow would never come.

However, tomorrow did come, as always, and he slipped away before the sun rose. The note he left said simply, _Wait for me._

“Always,” she murmured when she read it, tracing the three words with the tip of her finger. “Always.”


End file.
